


Seven Days

by abrandnewheart



Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crossover, Everyone is Dead, Fights, It Makes Sense When You Read It, Lots of it, M/M, Magic, Memory Alteration, Sort Of, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-01 23:31:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12715068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrandnewheart/pseuds/abrandnewheart
Summary: Shiro and Keith are fighting for their right to live, in a game that neither of them ever wanted to play - or really believed in - after an unfortunate accident.The Game has a high price to get in, and a higher one for failure. The entry fee? The most important thing to you. Win, and get it back. Lose, and not only do you lose it forever, but your entire existence is Erased.Step one of the game is finding a partner to pact with; someone to survive the seven days and seven missions with. Keith heads straight for Shiro, the one person in the world who knows and understands him.Things get hard when Keith realises what his entry fee is.Note: you don't need to understand the crossover. I've made it so anyone can understand what's going on.





	1. Chapter 1

 

His head aches. What time is it? Why does everything hurt like it does when he’s hungover? Why is it so noisy? Why is it cold?

Keith opens his eyes, and looks up. 

 _Why_ , he asks himself, refusing to worry until he’d figured the situation out, _is it that the sky's above him instead of their bedroom ceiling?_

He sits up. He resents himself for it as his head starts spinning. He takes a moment to let it settle before he gets to his feet. None of this adds up. He's in the city centre, the busiest junction in the whole of Altea city, and no-one’s stopped to help him? How did he get here, anyway? How did he-

His phone beeps, and he haphazardly yanks it from his back pocket. If he fell on it when he landed on the ground (if he even ‘landed’ there at all), he's lucky - the screen isn't broken. It’s a text message. Unknown number.

**Reach Balmera Center. You have one hour. Fail, and face erasure.**

Keith is dismissive, thumb already approaching the delete button when there is a sharp flash of pain in his palm, and he looks down at the offending area with a grimace.

Six big black numbers stare up at him. 00:59:58.

He rubs at them, shakes his hand, and scrubs at them with the sleeve of his jacket, but they don’t move. These aren’t ink; these are embedded, almost like moving tattoos. It’s a clock. It’s ticking down. This isn’t some stupid spam; this is real.

There had always been stories. Stories that said that the good, the brave, the worthy were entered into a game. A game that granted a second chance at life when the first one ended prematurely.

Keith had always hated the idea. Who decides what is ‘good’ in the first place? Who decides what constitutes being brave? Keith wasn’t any of those things, but here he was, with a message detailing what he had to do and a timer on his hand; exactly how the stories went. Keith had discounted them as an urban legend. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so foolish. He’d only been following his instincts, though - and instinct said that if no-one had ever come forward about completing that kind of game then it couldn’t possibly exist.

It just made sense, didn’t it?

Maybe no one had ever won before. But then that called into question how the myth existed in the first place? Some people believed in it wholeheartedly, listened to every new scrap of information they could get. Keith wonders if he should have done the same. Or maybe he should have done a better job staying alive in the first place. 

They one constant thing in the stories was that they took an entry fee. It’s always a person’s most important thing; whether it’s an item or a person or some other intangible thing. Keith looks himself over in the window. His face is the same. He can feel the bulk of his knife against his hip. Was his hair always that long? Maybe Shiro was right when he said he needed it cut.

Shiro. Shiro. Where the fuck is Shiro?

It comes back in a flash that is so sudden it leaves a ringing in his ears.

They'd been on Keith's bike. God, she was a lovely bike. Shiro always told him off for riding her too quickly, for not being careful enough on corners-

And this had been the time that Keith had proved him right.

Fuck. Shit. Fuck fuck fuck. Shiro. Shiro.

Shiro who had done nothing wrong in his life ever and who'd been nothing but great and kind and the best damn boyfriend, and Keith had only fucking gotten them both killed. Fuck.

And now he was nowhere to be found, and maybe they'd taken him as an entry fee to the game and hell, if Keith didn't make it out and win then there was no way he would ever be able to forgive himself because Shiro didn’t deserve this, there was no way he deserved to have to fight for his right to live when this was all Keith’s fault in the first place-

“Shiro!” He finds himself yelling, voice cracking with the effort of it. Maybe Shiro is here. Maybe Shiro wasn't his entry fee. Maybe there's something else going on. Maybe this is just a weird nightmare and he needs to wake up _wake up_ **wake up** from it.

He slaps himself hard on the cheek, then follows it up with a slap to his other one, and pinches to both of his arms. They sting. This is real. Whatever is going on, it is real. He’s thankful that no-one seems to care about his sudden longing for self-harm - or maybe they can’t even see him, that was another one of those stupid stories. But he has to focus. He doesn’t have time for these kinds of questions. He has to make a move.

He shoves his phone back into his pocket with trembling fingers, and his fingers brush against something cold along the way. He withdraws the cold _something_ in exchange the for the phone.

It's a small pin, black with a white skull. He stares blankly at it. He’s never seen anything quite like it before - it’s heavily stylised, almost like one of the local fashion brands - and it doesn’t seem to be particularly special.

He has time to figure out what it's for later. For now, he needs to either try to find Shiro, or try to make it to the Balmera shopping centre. He doesn't _really_ want to know what happens if that timer hits zero. He doesn’t at all want to know what happens if he doesn’t find Shiro in time.

If the rumours are true, if the stories are to be believed, there is no option but to do the Reaper’s tasks. Failure meant erasure - the void, some people referred to it as.

That meant reaching the Balmera shopping centre. It wasn't that far. Ten minutes if he jogged it, faster if he sprinted. Shiro knew the stories, too. They'd discussed them before. If Shiro has any sense - _and he does,_ Keith reminds himself, _he has more common sense than most people put together -_ then he'd head there too. They could meet there. Maybe Shiro is even waiting for him right now.

Keith runs harder than he ever has before. He knows the streets, knows where the pavements are cracked and hard to walk on, knows where he needs to dodge puddles and dips in the road so he doesn’t smash his face into the ground.

He's barely halfway to the Balmera centre when a frog-looking creature appears, jumping in his direction. It's about the size of his foot, and he manages to dodge every time it jumps at him, every little bubble it blows (he doesn’t trust it; it looks like those awful green and red ones he saw in his books about rainforests when he was younger). He has no time for whatever this thing is. He stops, spins on the spot, and kicks at it, which sends it flying down the street.

He breathes hard, turning back around and he takes a few seconds to reorient himself. Fifty-three and a half minutes left. Fifty-three and a half minutes to find Shiro and get to Balmera. Fifty-three and a half minutes.

As he pounds through the streets, his knees ache; each fast stomp on the hard concrete sending a fresh wave of pain through his joints. He weaves through the crowd - there is plenty of later to wonder if they’d even feel it if he ran into them - and he is grateful that he knows his way around the city. He can’t even imagine trying to find Balmera if he didn’t already know the fastest route.

He rounds the corner to run up the stairs to the main entrance. He hits something, and he staggers back, hand on his forehead where he’s hurt himself. Okay. Okay. There’s something in his way, and he doesn’t really have time to think too long - it’s been another five minutes. He’s almost a quarter of the way through the time allotted already - _and he still hasn’t made a pact yet._ He needs Shiro. He doesn’t want to pact with anyone else - this was about trust ,and making their way through a difficult week of tasks together to prove they deserve a second chance. Pairing with someone else would be  wrong, especially given how they’d gotten into this whole sorry mess in the first place. No. Keith got them into this, and he’d work with Shiro to get them out. He owes his boyfriend that much.

But now he has to think. He is vulnerable without a pact. The ‘rules’ that circulate online say so - and they’re all Keith has to work off of right now.

Noise - like the creature that had followed him earlier - would come for him, and he couldn’t fight without a pact. The Noise would erase him if he couldn’t find a partner soon.

It’s then that the worst thought of all hits: what if Shiro hadn’t even made it into the game?

They say only the best and brightest and most deserving got the opportunity - but what if they didn’t think Shiro counted? It wouldn’t make sense, because Keith had somehow managed to get in. But still - if Shiro wasn’t his entry fee (which was still possible) and otherwise not in the game, then Keith isn’t sure if he wants to live at all. Morbid, maybe, but he’s always had a bit of a fascination with what was beyond.

He stares at nothing for a moment, eyes unfocused as he allows himself a few seconds of panic. Then, like always,like the way the waves lap at a beach, the same words come back to him, gradually gaining clarity in his mind.

_Patience yields focus._

He has to calm down. Panicking and freaking out about whether Shiro is here or not isn’t going to get him anywhere. He reaches forward, letting his fingertips press against the barrier, and walks the width of the entrance to the mall, dragging his hand along the wall. It’s perfectly solid, cool against his fingers, and there doesn’t seem to be any way through it. He reaches for his knife and puts all his force into a stab at the barrier, but all that happens is a resounding _clang_ and getting thrown back even harder than before.

There has to be a way through it. They can’t just give out impossible missions. That wouldn’t be fair - but then, Keith supposes that there’s very little about this situation that’s fair in the first place.

He takes a step back to reassess. What would Shiro do? He was always better at this problem-solving stuff. He’d probably go around the other side and see if that was any easier. But that, that was a fifteen minute walk, maybe seven if he ran hard, but he’d wasted another few precious minutes trying to get through the barrier. There might not be time.

Fuck it, he has to try.

He sets off down the side streets, weaving through the crowd. He is quick, darting around people and vaulting over trash cans when he has to. Anything to get there faster. Another creature, similar to the one from before - though maybe a different colour - lunges at him, but he really, really doesn’t have time for this, so he wills his legs to go faster, _faster, he has to get there faster -_

He dashes headlong into a solid mass of flesh. Fuck, he’s got to stop running into things. Especially things that are people.

He steps back, an apology already tumbling from his lips as he looks up. The person is solidly built, and judging from how he was starting to move, he’s felt every bit of Keith running into him, which means he’s definitely involved in the game and -

His breath catches in his throat. Keith would recognise that jawline anywhere. He’d spent many nights cuddled up underneath it.

“Are you playing?” Shiro’s voice is firm, authoritative, just like always. He isn’t looking at Keith as he asks the question, not really.

“Yes,” Keith is breathless, panting heavily, but he thinks he sounds happy enough.

“Pact with me.” It’s not a question.

“Of course.”

There’s a flash of bright white light. The deed is done. They are partners, in more than one sense of the word, now. Fuck, Keith is lucky he quite literally ran into him here. He doesn’t want to think about what might have happened if he didn’t.

“We only have twenty minutes left to figure out a way through the wall,” Keith points out.

Shiro contemplates it for a moment, scanning the area. “I’ve tried everything I can think of to get through this end. I suppose it’s blocked off at both sides?”

“It is. I tried the other end first.”

Shiro narrows his eyes, just a little, and Keith knows it as the sign that he’s noticed something odd, or off. “I think that guy is watching us,” He concludes, pointing vaguely in the direction of a man wearing a burgundy hoodie, sitting on the bottom step of the entryway. He’s conspicuously inconspicuous, in a way, wearing a hoodie, cap and sunglasses. “Why don’t we pay him a visit?”

“Uh, if you’re sure,” Keith agrees, and he follows Shiro towards the man in question. He’s on his guard the entire time, carefully eyeing up the man they’re heading towards.

“Pact confirmed,” The man speaks as they approach, before either of them can even say anything. “Wall clear!”

Well. That answers that question, and Keith grabs hold of Shiro’s hand as he takes his first step up the stairway. “C’mon. I don’t wanna let the timer run down any further.” The stories tell of people who live until the final day and are still refused their right to return - simply because someone else did it better. It would fucking suck, to put it bluntly, and Keith is reluctant to let anything hamper their progress or chances.

The hand doesn’t quite feel right in his own, but there isn’t time to worry. Instead, he bounds up the steps, taking them two at a time, and he’s caught somewhere between overwhelming anxiety at the whole situation and being really rather pleased with himself that he’d managed to find Shiro in one piece and willing to pact with him.

There’s a small jolt in his hand as they step through the doors to the center, and a quick glance down reveals nothing but clear, newly unblemished skin.

“Mission complete,” Keith says, the relief evident in his voice. One day, one mission down. Six to go. He even manages a grin. Day one wasn’t so bad - maybe the rest will be easy, too. Less stressful, he hopes, but he doesn’t expect that bit to come true at all. They have a chance, regardless.

He drops Shiro’s hand as he reaches into his pocket to grab his phone, and he realises what the problem with Shiro’s hand was. It hits him like a bus.

Shiro’s hand was warm the whole time. Warm, and supple, and yielding to the pressure of Keith squeezing Shiro’s fingers with his own. Keith looks down, to confirm his suspicions, takes a glance over at Shiro’s other hand to make sure he hadn’t made some kind of silly mistake - and there isn’t one.

Where there used to be a cold prosthetic, there is now living flesh.

He can’t even begin to comprehend how they’d done it. He stares, openly, eyebrows furrowed. He opens his mouth to ask the question - _is that your fee?_ \- but is caught off-guard by Shiro asking one of his own, first.

“What did you say your name was?”


	2. Chapter 2

_“What did you say your name was?”_

For a moment, everything is still. Keith pauses where he stands, eyes wide. His breath catches in his throat. All he can do is open his mouth and force something out, but he isn’t even sure what he’s said once he’s managed. Maybe it was just strangled half-words.

“Hey, are you okay?” Shiro asks, eyebrows furrowed and Keith knows that look as concern.

Definitely strangled half-words.

“Yeah,” Keith answers after a moment, shaking his head to snap himself out of it. Fuck. Okay.

He has to pretend this hasn’t just happened. “Sorry. Keith. My name’s Keith.”

He looks up, dares to hope for some flicker of recognition in Shiro’s eyes, but instead, Shiro just smiles and holds out his hand - the same one that has changed so drastically. Keith takes it, and they shake, and it’s weird. It’s so _weird_ , and Keith can’t tell if it’s because Shiro’s hand doesn’t feel like the one he’s used to, or whether it’s because this gesture is far more formal than is usual between them. Maybe it’s both.

“Takashi,” He says, though he’s quick to add, “but people call me Shiro.”

As if Keith didn’t already know.

 

****  


~

 

Keith awakes in the junction again, sprawled similarly to the day before. He furrows his eyebrows as he squints against the harsh sunlight and pushes himself up into a sitting position. He sits there, quiet for a few moments, and rakes a hand through his hair. The peace does little to soothe his mind, and he isn’t afforded much in the way of privacy anyway; there are people all around even if they can’t see him or interact with him.

Shiro is at his side but a minute later, dropping onto the sidewalk beside him and handing him a coffee and a bagel.

“Where’d you get this?” Keith asks after a minute, though he’s quick to take a gulp of the coffee.  

“The store over there,” Shiro points over his shoulder with his thumb.

“Ah. Of course. They can see us in there.”

“Yup.” It was another of the rumours that turned out to be true. Day to day life occurred in what was called the ‘realground’ or RG. ‘The Reapers’ game occurred in the ‘underground’, or UG. Reapers and their superiors could move between them. There were pockets where the two different grounds, or parallel planes, intersected. Some local stores were part of these parallel planes, identified by a skull decal near the door. It was supposed to let the players have some of their real-world comforts or something.

Keith isn’t sure he likes the idea of it. What if he bumps into someone he knew? That was bound to be a hell of a shock. ‘Oh, by the way, I’m kinda dead, but I’m also playing a game to try and not be dead any more’. No. He doesn’t fancy having that conversation with anyone, and sure, pure numbers were on his side; how likely is it that he’ll bump into any of the people he knows in such a big city? But - hey, it does mean he can have coffee, and that’s a plus.

“How’d you know how I take my coffee?” It’s perfect - black, with just the tiniest sprinkle of sugar to take the edge off.

“I just had a hunch,” Shiro shrugs, and flashes the smile that still makes Keith go weak at the knees even though it’s been over a year. It’s a good thing he’s sitting down.

Keith wants to say the silence is comfortable as they eat. It mostly is, but there’s a weird edge to it that’s palpable. Keith can’t help but take glances in Shiro’s direction. He wonders if he ought to say anything, comment on the way Shiro keeps frowning down at his arm, clenching and unclenching his fist in front of him like it’s confusing him. He debates saying something like, ‘I know you, even if you don’t know me. I know you far more intimately than you think,’ but that sounds like something Shiro would come out with completely seriously, or something Lance would say when he’s trying to sound smart, and it’s not something Keith is sure about saying in the first place.

Trying to convince Shiro that they’re acquainted is not a good idea. If Keith knows Shiro well - and he hopes he does at this point - he’ll get fixated on it, get annoyed at himself for forgetting things even if it’s not his fault, and Keith knows it isn’t. Or, alternatively, he’ll just not believe him in the first place and then they’re screwed anyway, because Shiro’s partner for the Game would have just ‘lied’ to him.

It’s safer just to wait it out, easier for them both than to ruin what could - no, should - be a perfectly fine pact.

Keith is pulled from his thoughts when their phones beep. He downs the rest of his coffee and shoves most of the bagel in his mouth as he opens the text to scan the message.

**Defeat the master of Arus. You have four hours. Fail and face erasure.**

 

Arus. That is a club on the other side of town. Keith had never liked it there much. It’s loud and busy, at least when it gets so late into the evening that it’s nearly early morning, and it’s horribly overpriced. Girls practically threw themselves at Shiro the few times they’d been with their friends, and something ugly had reared it’s head in Keith’s chest every time - it was ugly and unpleasant and yet... and yet it was kind of hard to hate that feeling when it led to impatient kisses in the alley next to the club before running home to make sure both of them knew who they belonged to.

Shiro waves a hand in front of Keith’s face and says, “We have somewhere to be.”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees, only half-heartedly. “Yeah, okay.”

All he wants is _his_ Shiro back.

“Do you know the way?” Shiro asks him as he offers a hand to help Keith to his feet. Keith isn’t sure when Shiro had even stood up. “I have a vague idea but I’m not all that sure.”

“I know,” Keith answers, and he’s perhaps a little more curt than he needs to be. “I know where we’re headed.”

“Then lead the way.”

They set off and fall into a jog, rather than sprinting like Keith had yesterday. There’s plenty of time to get there; it shouldn’t take any more than a fifteen minutes at this rate.

It’s weird, jogging in the main streets of the city. Keith is used to the suburbs. He’s used to their street, their park, their part of town. At least jogging with Shiro wasn’t weird; that’s something he’s gotten used to after years of it. They fall into pace with ease. Some things, it seems, don’t change so easily.

When they arrive, they are met with a building that is very securely locked. They check the front, they check the side doors, hell, Keith even clambers up a drainpipe to check the first floor window, but nothing budges. Nothing gives, not even an inch. On top of that, it’s pitch black inside, from what Keith can see through the tiny window.

He shimmies back down the drain, jumps the last few feet and manages to stick the landing without falling on his ass. He is thankful for small victories.

“Nothing,” He sighs, scowling at the door. “No dice. Nada. Shit.”

Before Keith knows what’s happening, Shiro is launching himself at the door shoulder-first.

He bounces off, falling back and landing on the floor.

“Good job,” Keith rolls his eyes as he speaks. “Really. Trying to break in. You didn’t seem the type.” No, that was his thing, once upon a time. Shiro was good. Shiro didn’t break into places.

“Have you got any better ideas?” Shiro counters, an eyebrow raised as he asks the question and gets back to his feet.

Keith crosses his arms across his chest and looks away. _No, he doesn’t._

“I didn’t think so,” Shiro adds, and Keith raises an eyebrow. Did Shiro just sass him? Shiro. Shiro, who didn’t sass anyone because he was too nice a guy to be sarcastic to anyone. That Shiro. Just sassed him. Jesus.

“Can you stop sassing me for like three seconds and try and help me think, then?” Keith asks, and if he’s a little abrupt, he doesn’t really give a damn. They just have to get through this.

Shiro looks taken aback, eyes wide and almost concerned. “I wasn’t sassing you-”

“You were.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.” And there is regular Shiro, apologetic for things that are barely his fault anyway.

“It’s okay. We just gotta work together and try and get through this, yeah?”

“Agreed. Let’s figure out how to get in, then.”

They circle the building one more time; try and push windows in; try and shove down the back door. Nothing helps. The place is a fortress. Short of blowing the place up, Keith doesn’t know what to do.

Shiro rakes a hand through his hair, and the little floof at the front is flattened a little and - fuck, he’s pretty when he’s thinking. He purses his lips, furrows his eyebrows just a little... Focus. Keith has to focus.  

“You have one of these, yeah?” Shiro asks after a moment, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pin - the exact same design as the one Keith has in his own pocket; black with a white skull.

“Yeah,” Keith reveals his own, holding it between finger and thumb. “Why? I couldn’t figure out what it was for.”

“Toss it.”

Keith narrows his eyes, but does as instructed, tossing it in the air and catching it neatly in his palm.

It’s chaos. It’s like five hundred people are talking in his head all at once and he can’t make it stop, it won’t stop why can’t he make it stop? He can hardly make himself think straight, can hardly remember what he’d even been thinking about, can’t remember how he’d made it start let alone how to make it stop—

“Keith,” One voice cuts through the static. It’s like when he looks through the windshield of Shiro’s car on a rainy day; he can see what’s going on, but the raindrops are still there, out of focus. Keith opens his eyes (when had he even closed them?), does his best to calm his breathing, but it can’t stop, won’t stop, why won’t it _stop_. “Toss the coin again.”

Anything to make it go away. It certainly can’t get any worse.

He tosses the coin. Keith doesn’t catch it, but the noise stops anyway. He sinks to his knees, closing his eyes again. Whatever that was, it was intense, and he is glad, now, that no-one can see them except each other. Near-collapsing in public would be sure to cause a scene. Near-collapsing in front of Shiro isn’t anywhere near as big a deal.

His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath.

“What the fuck was that?” He demands, looking up at Shiro with wide eyes. “What did you do to me?”

“It’s loud, right?”

“What the fuck is it?” His voice is hoarse, and he doesn’t mean to shout, not really; but he can’t help it. He’d been convinced he was falling into a circle of hell, and for what?

“I think it’s people’s thoughts.”

Keith stares, eyes narrowed and face screwed into an ‘are you fucking serious, there’s no way in hell’ kind of expression, and then, then he lets it fall away as he reconsiders. It doesn’t sound real. There’s no way it could possibly be real - but this was Shiro, and as far as Keith was aware, Shiro had never lied to him before.

At least, not his Shiro. This one was another matter entirely.  

Shiro seems to sense his mistrust, and is explaining himself before Keith can even ask.

“It dies down when you focus on one person enough,” He opens with, “And I couldn’t think of anything else around here that would cause that much noise - it’s louder than the streets themselves. I think it’s funny how some people are louder than others even in their heads…” He trails off, and looks up. He’s been staring at his hand again

“Makes sense,” Keith supposes. Shiro has never intentionally led him wrong before. He supposes he can try it again.

He tosses the pin again, catches it, and stares directly at Shiro. Focusing on someone reveals their thoughts, right? And hearing what Shiro was thinking-- that would be a fantastic insight.

There is nothing. He squints, forcing himself to stare harder, to think harder, to see if he could figure it out better, but there is nothing. A black hole. A void. He looks to a girl across the street instead, focuses his attention on her, and is met with a barrage of _oh I hope no-one saw me fall over back there, my knee really hurts, maybe I should sit down for a bit-_

He looks back to Shiro. Nothing.

What the fuck? Why can’t he read Shiro? Fuck, he doesn’t have time to think about this. They have a mission to do, and it’s so goddamn hard to figure it out, because he knows they’re in the right place, and obviously Shiro had an idea, but he’s not divulging anything, and that’s not like him, he always tells people what’s going on and -

He tosses the coin before the noise gets too loud again - though he supposes he could come back to the static later. It could be soothing, at other times. Like when it rains and the pats of rain on the roof soothe his mind, just a little. He lets himself get back to his feet at long last.

“Why did you make me go through all that in the first place?” Keith asks. “To fuck with my head or what?”

“Only because there’s a staff member standing right over there,” Shiro says with a shrug, pointing over towards a man in a green hoodie, who’s talking agitatedly on his phone.

Keith nods, and mutters a, “Sorry.” He’s snapping a lot. He knows he is. He can’t keep doing this. Shiro hasn’t done anything wrong except— except forget who Keith is. And that’s not even his fault. Probably. Fuck. He really has to stop stressing about that ‘little’ detail. If they win, no harm done.

So. Staff member. Keith takes the hint Shiro’s given (though why Shiro didn’t just do the work himself if he’s already figured it out is confusing, and so unlike him, and Keith stores that fact away for use later on), focuses his attention on the man and tosses the coin.

One thing comes through loud and clear. He’s agitated. Keith is kind of starting to get the picture, so he tosses the pin again to shut everything up once more.

“They’ve lost their keys and there’s no spares anywhere. Someone’s gone to a locksmith but they left ages ago and they haven’t come back yet. I think we need to get a locksmith down here or get a spare set of keys from someone or something. Then we can get in and fight the boss. Yeah?”

“Sure.”

Sure. Sure, Shiro, ‘sure’ is a really good way to agree or disagree with a plan. Where’s all his fighting spirit? Why is he not telling Keith to come up with a better plan of action than ‘we’ll figure it out’, basically? Why was he like this at all?

“...Great,” Keith mutters, falling silent once more as he thinks. Where is the nearest locksmith? Will they even be able to be seen? Not every store had the decal to let them cross the barrier from UG to RG. Do people even use locksmiths any more?

Well, the guy had been saying on the phone that his colleague had gone to the nearest one, so they had to still exist and be used. And they really ought to get going and see if they could figure out what had happened.

“Let’s go,” Keith instructs, and he has to nudge Shiro’s arm to get him to pay attention. “Come on. We haven’t got all day.”

“The nearest place is a couple streets away,” Shiro offers after a moment of walking beside Keith. How does he even know that?

“Then lead the way.”

Shiro is compliant, and they set off in a jog. There isn’t time to waste on walking, any more.

The find a locksmith with no problem. No decal. Just like Keith had feared. “Now what?” He asks, though he supposes that Shiro won’t have any answers. How could he?

Shiro doesn’t even answer, instead looking at his phone and then up at the store.

“Guess we’re stuck.”

“Shiro, no, that’s not how this works. We need to figure it out.”

“Well, we’re here, we can’t be seen in that store and I don’t know how else to get the place unlocked. Do you?”

Keith doesn’t know. He’d admit that in a heartbeat. But at least he’s willing to try!

He scowls, looking at the floor and then up at Shiro. “Look, you don’t have to help me, but I think you have the brainpower to. So just do it.”

They are quiet for several minutes, and then, finally, mercifully, Shiro speaks. “There’s a new option on my phone.”

 

“What is it?”

“It just says ‘imprint’,” Shiro shrugs as he says it.

“Nothing else?”

“When I click it says ‘keys’ and ‘work’.”

Keith ponders it for a minute, and then shrugs. “I mean, I guess it’s like, implanting an idea in someone’s head? That’s the impression I’m getting anyway.” Not that he has any clue, but the idea seems to make sense.

“How does that even work?”

“Look, I don’t know. How does any of this work? How are we even still having this conversation if we’re dead? All I know is that it might help us get out of this shithole, so we’re gonna figure out how to use it.”

That, at least, seems to snap Shiro out of his ‘can’t do’ attitude and into something vaguely better.

“Who are we using it on, then?”

“Him.” Keith points through the door of the shop. There’s a man at the counter, in the same sort of hoodie as the man at the club earlier - the logo on the back looks the same, at least. From the sounds of things, there’s a pretty pathetic attempt at flirting, including lots of Tribbiani-esque ‘how you doin’?’s. “I bet he’s who we’re looking for.”

“Why?”

“The hoodie’s the same. Right?”

“I guess.”

“Just press the damn button, Shiro.”

Shiro sighs, but does as instructed, pressing the button as he stares in the unknown man’s direction.

Keith takes a step closer, listens in more intently on the conversation. If this was, in fact, what he suspected, then they might be able to use it to their advantage in the upcoming days. Maybe. Who even knew what could be coming their way?

“Aaaanyway,” The man says, “I need someone to help us out A-S-A-P, you know what I mean? So if you can head down to Arus there’s someone there waiting.”

This was easy. It’s too easy, even, as the girl turns her back and starts to fetch what Keith can only assume is equipment from behind the desk. Even still, they’ve wasted two hours of their time. Time that is slowly trickling away.

“We should head back,” Keith suggests. Shiro doesn’t answer, instead turning and heading off in the direction they’d arrived from.

“Hey!” Keith chases after him when he realises what’s going on, eventually catching up. He looks up at Shiro as he walks alongside him - well, he says walk, but it’s more of a half-jog - and can’t help but frown. Shiro isn’t doing so good. It’s plain to see on his face, even if Keith is able to ignore all the odd behaviour.

Shiro still says nothing. Keith scowls.

“Why aren’t you talking to me?” Keith asks, and maybe it’s unfair to expect this version of Shiro to talk to him as much, maybe it’s only fair to assume he’d be like how he used to be, quieter and less sure of himself, but it makes no fucking sense.

“I do talk to you,” Shiro answers, but he doesn’t sound convinced of anything.

“No, you listen to me and don’t contribute.” This isn’t how it’s meant to be. This isn’t how it normally is. They’re partners, normally, in every sense of the word.

Their conversation is cut short by their arrival back at Arus. Obviously they’ve beaten the staff member back, but it’s a good thing they did.

The place is crawling with Noise. Wolves, in the street, and the minute they catch sight of Keith and Shiro, they pounce.

They haven’t really had to fight before. Keith reaches for his knife, and he’s surprised by the sudden weight, the fact that it swells in his hands. He vaguely recalls something about familiar items being imbued with the Soul of the user, turning them into weapons.

He worries about Shiro for all of two seconds - does he have anything to use to fight with? - but he’s soon dragged back to reality by the peripheral sight of… something, running at him. He swings the _sword_ that’s been granted to him and connects. He doesn’t see, but instead feels the solid connection he makes with the creature’s side. He spins on the spot, keeping an eye out for whatever is approaching next, keeping an eye on Shiro who…

Keith throws himself in the way, sword braced in front of him. He staggers back, blade caught in the beast’s mouth, and yells, “Move!”

Keith is only grateful that these beings turn into coloured clouds dust in one hit. He can take them out himself if he’s quick enough. He darts about, stabbing left and swinging right.

Shiro does not help him.

 

Keith collapses in a heap on the floor, too tired from the sudden exertion to think about standing any longer. There may have been a lot of Noise about, but at least they were easily defeated. Who knew what might have happened if they weren’t?

There is nothing to do but wait for that girl from the locksmith, and Keith is grateful for the breather. He has to figure out a tactful but still forceful way of getting Shiro to realise how stupid he’s being. Refusing to fight back? Not coming up with ideas? This is not the Shiro that Keith knew and loved 

They wait. And wait. And wait some more, and Keith is so frustrated that it’s taking so long that he is almost about ready to hunt that girl down and _make her_ get down here. But he tries to be patient, like Shiro would be ( _patience yields focus,_ after all), and he is rewarded with her making her way over to the doors to talk to the staff member from earlier in the day.

Soon enough, she sets to work. Keith watches. And waits. And watches some more. And waits some more. Shiro is saying nothing to him, instead sat with his legs folded in front of him and resting his elbows on his thighs, and his chin in his hands. Fuck, they need to talk.

“Hey, Shiro-”

“Let’s go.” Shiro’s voice is more confident than it’s been all day. “She’s finished.”

Fuck it. Now that he’s come up with the courage to bring it up, Shiro’s proving him wrong and suggesting things again, like there was nothing wrong in the first place.

The door is left open, and the staff enter.

Shiro and Keith follow them inside. One hour left. They need to find this so-called master, and take it out.

The club is dark and reeks of sweat. It’s practically embedded into the walls, and the heavy, stagnant air does nothing to help get rid of it. They hurry down the stairs into the basement - or, well, Keith does, and Shiro wanders down after him.

They head back up, and into the second floor. Nothing.

“It’s gotta be on the roof,” Keith concludes. “Are you ready?”

“I guess.”

“Shiro,” Keith says, and he isn’t sure if he’s disappointed or concerned or angry or all three at the same time. “You can’t just guess. You need to be able to help me. Please.” Any other time he might be ashamed that his voice cracks on the last word.

Shiro is quiet for a moment, but soon relents. “I’ll do what I can. No promises that it’ll be any good.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Keith says, and he turns towards the stairs to the roof, and leads the way. He’s just grateful that Shiro sounds like he might try this time.

They have wasted another twenty minutes between searching the entirety of the other two floors and their little discussion. Keith isn’t sure how long fights like this usually take, but forty minutes seems like plenty.  


Keith turns out to be wrong.

 

The master of Arus turns out to be a _giant lizard_ with a propensity for _biting and clawing_. Shiro is actively trying not to get hurt, this time, and Keith breathes a sigh of relief. He isn’t helping, but he’s not hindering, either, and Keith is skilled enough with his blade to not get hurt.

At least, he is to start with. He missteps, gets tripped up, and then the thing is in front of him, on top of him, claws digging into his shoulders. He can feel warm breath on his face, and he knows. He _knows._ This is it. This is the end. He is gasping for breath, worn out from the fighting and defending and the trying his damn hardest to beat this thing into submission.

He is never going to get to see his Shiro again. A player without a partner can’t play, so you lose. If you lose, you and your entry fee are erased forever. Keith knows. Keith knows - is sure that Shiro’s memories were his fee, and he hates himself for it, but he hates himself more for not being strong enough to beat this thing.

Most of all, though, he hates himself for getting them both in this situation to begin with.

The creature rears its head, opens its jaws wide, and Keith struggles, tries to make it stop, does everything he can to make it not happen. He squeezes his eyes shut as it launches in-

There is no pain.

Keith opens his eyes, squinting through his lashes, like he’s scared it’s just toying with him.

Keith isn’t really sure what he’s looking at when he spies Shiro with his left arm stretched out, but the creature in front of him relinquishes his grip on Keith’s shoulders, and so Keith takes the opportunity to scramble backwards from it until he hits the short wall that stops him hurtling off the edge of the building.

And then he finally gets a good look. Shiro’s fingers are tensed, like he’s trying to grip an invisible ball in the air, and the creature is writhing in what Keith assumes to be pain. Shiro tilts his hand to the right and Keith spies a bolt of lightning.

Fucking _lightning._ Keith gets a sword and Shiro gets goddamn magic?

Either way, he can’t complain, for soon the writhing stops, the shrieking ends, and the creature disappears in a large puff of yellow smoke.

Keith launches himself to his feet and runs towards Shiro, too exhausted and terrified to worry what grabbing him in for a hug might seem like.

Shiro shoves him away with a shout of, “The timer’s still ticking!”

So this is it. Keith looks at his palm. Thirty seconds. There’s no way they can fix this now. There’s no way they’re getting out of this alive.

“Shiro, I-”

There is a crash from below, and then a tiny flying lizard, no larger than sparrow, bursts onto the rooftop, followed by two people hurling bricks and bar stools and pint glasses at it.

“Get it!” The man yells. “That’s the master! That’s the one controlling everything!”

Keith swings wildly with his sword, Shiro throws out his hand and the woman who’s just appeared screeches with her arms held above her, and Keith swears there’s a sonic boom, but he doesn’t have time to think too hard.

The creature disappears, and the tiny jolt in his hand tells him that the timer has stopped. He takes a glance as it starts to disappear. Three seconds.

Three fucking seconds. Three seconds later and they’d be dead. Three seconds later and Keith wouldn’t ever be able to get Shiro’s memories back, and Shiro wouldn’t get his arm back. Three seconds later and they’d both be Erased and sent into oblivion.

Keith collapses onto the floor with the relief of it all, sinking to his knees and the sword falling with a clatter before it reverts back to smaller knife-form.

“How did you figure it out?” Shiro asks the two of them, eyebrows furrowed. “We were so sure it was the big one.”

“It only appeared after we heard the big one disappear,” The man tells them.

“Literally, it came out of thin air,” The woman adds.

“I guess we owe you a thanks, then,” Keith interrupts. “For helping.”

“We do,” Shiro agrees, and he reaches out an arm to shake the man’s hand. “Thank you. I’m Shiro. That’s Keith. If we can pay you back in any way then we will.”

“Name’s Rolo. This is Nyma. You don’t owe us anything dude, we’re trying to win as much as you are.”

Keith purses his lips as they stand. “Still,” He says. “Thanks anyway.”

The four of them head out of the building together, and part ways in the street below.

 

“They were nice,” Shiro says after a moment.

“I don’t know if I trust them." 

“Huh? Why not?”

“I just… get a weird vibe from them. Y- someone I know tells me to trust my instincts, so I am.”

“Suit yourself, Keith. Suit yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to [oligreyart](https://oligreyart.tumblr.com/%20) for the art!


	3. Chapter 3

Day three of waking up in the crossing. Day three of this nightmare, this living hell. Keith likes to think he doesn't have much of a flair for the dramatic - unlike, for instance, Lance - but he is wrong. He reaches the bitter realisation as he throws his hands to the air and demands, _“Why?”_

He knows why, of course. He knows that these are the rules. Seven days, seven tasks, the last of which is nearly always ‘defeat the game master’.

He can even rationalise why things have changed. Shiro's arm is normal for one of two reasons: either they don't like people having injuries before they begin so they fix them (which Keith deems false, because his elbow is still doing that weird thing where it makes a cracking sound and then gets sore, but then again, maybe it's only for serious things like broken bones and missing limbs), _or_ they took it off of someone as an entry fee.

Keith had never cared about the arm beyond how Shiro felt about it, so the only logical conclusion was that Shiro _did._ Enough that it was deemed to be the most important thing to him. Enough that it was more important than Keith. Shiro didn't even know who Keith _was_ any more. Maybe that was Keith's fee. But then, maybe it was Shiro's, and the arm was just routine, and Keith hadn't figured out what they'd taken. But if he couldn't figure it out, it couldn't have been that important right?

He’s overthinking things.

Shiro is still passed out, slumped against the side of the central bank that graces the main crossroads. Maybe Keith should go get breakfast. He's actually hungry for the first time in days. Maybe being dead in their plane of existence means they need to be fed less often.

He still doesn't understand how the decals work, but he's content to put it down to ‘weird Reaper magic’ and get on with his day. He gets Shiro his usual - vanilla latte, extra shot. Some things will have stayed the same; Keith can only hope this is one of them. Does he still like bagels? He'd never had one before Keith moved in.

He risks the bagel. If it fails, the worst that happens is that Keith has to eat the bagel instead, as well as his own (in reality, the worst that happens is that it gets confirmed just how much of his memory is gone, how little of Keith is left, but he's trying not to think about that).

When he returns, Shiro looks actively relieved.

“Where were you?” He demands, and Keith shuts him up by handing over the bag with the bagel and his coffee.

“I got breakfast. You can do it for me yesterday but I'm not allowed to return the favour?”

“No, I just-”

“Got worried, I know. It's what you do.”

“How do you know?” Shiro raises an eyebrow, before pointedly taking a sip of his drink. “And how did you know my coffee order?”

“Lucky guesses.” Keith is deadpan. He has to maintain the lie that he doesn't know who Shiro is. Anything else and _this_ Shiro is going to be weird about it. Anything else might ruin the vague kind of working relationship they have together now. And he doesn't think he can face telling Shiro the truth and having him _still_ not remember.

They are quiet for several minutes. There is no beep to indicate that the mission has arrived.

Keith has finished his coffee. He's eaten his bagel. There's no mission, and the silence is uncomfortable, because this Shiro is unfamiliar, and the words come out before he can help them.

“What's wrong with your arm?"

Shiro is perhaps even more silent than he was previously. For a moment, Keith is sure he has stopped breathing, stopped making even the tiniest of micro-movements.

Keith glances up, wondering if he ought to explain himself, ought to say something about how he’d noticed that Shiro keeps looking at his arm like there’s something wrong with it (even though it’s perfectly normal, now, even though there’s obviously nothing wrong at all). The words don’t manage to leave his mouth.

“Nothing,” is Shiro’s answer, and he raises the hand to look at it again. He looks at it the way he used to look at Keith, sometimes, like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle. “It - it’s a long story.”  

“There’s no mission yet,” Keith presses. “We have time.” He wants to hear the story. He wants to know why it’s so important. He’s never even given it any thought.

Shiro takes a breath, heaves it out like it pains him to even think about.

“I was in an accident when I was twenty-one,” He opens with. It’s a safe way to open it. Keith knows the details of it anyway. “That’s- seven years ago now.” He pauses, takes a steadying breath. He doesn’t look at Keith when he talks, instead staring at his palm. “They had to amputate just below my shoulder. I didn’t take it well. It was my dominant hand. I wasn’t able to write, or tie my shoelaces, I couldn’t eat properly. I spent weeks figuring out how to cut things up.”

Keith suddenly has a suspicion about where the story is heading.

“I didn’t cope with it at all. I stopped going out. I stopped seeing people. I hated when people looked at it and asked what happened. I had to quit working while I studied, not that I was doing much studying anyway.” Another breath. It’s obviously difficult to talk about, and Keith almost regrets asking the question. “And then- and then a doctor got in contact. New experimental surgery. A prosthetic that didn’t look all that real because it was metal, but got hooked up to nerves or something - I don’t understand it all, I’m not a doctor - and it was supposed to work just as well as a normal hand, and I took it. Now they’ve taken it back off of me.”

“But if it works the same as a normal hand then why does it matter? You have full use of it either way.”  The question is blunt, but being nice and gentle and tiptoeing around awkward subjects has never been Keith’s strongest suit.

“Because the new one pretty much saved my life.”

Keith exhales softly, an “Oh,” caught in his breath.

“I owe my life to that thing,” Shiro continues, like it wasn't a problem to talk about this at all. Keith wants to make it stop, wants to tell him not to - he hasn't been told any of this in real life, and it feels so wrong to hear it now instead, like he's been punched in the gut. “I wouldn't be here talking to you if I didn't have it. Not that it matters, since we're dead anyway.” He huffs a short laugh. “I never used to be scared of dying. Now I know I should have been terrified.”

The statement hangs in the air, and Keith ponders it. Was this worse than just dying straight off? But they had a chance to come back, at the cost of losing what was important to them forever if they failed. It was too complicated to make a judgement either way.  

It's Shiro who breaks the silence. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Keith repeats it back. He doesn't know what Shiro's trying to ask him.

“Your entry fee. I couldn't figure it out and you haven't told me. You don't have to, obviously. I'm just curious.”

Keith takes a deep breath. “They took someone important away from me,” is how he phrases it. He does his best to keep his voice level. “He doesn't remember who I am or that I'm important to him too. At least, I think I am. I'm pretty sure. Was. It's complicated.”

“How do you know he doesn't remember?”

“Because I'm the reason he's in this fucking game with me. Us.”  It's easier than he expected to pretend this Shiro isn't the same one he knew, and refer to him as a nameless third-person. “I've seen him here, spoken to him and nothing. No recognition at all.”

“I'm sorry.”

If only he knew what he was really apologising for.

“It’s whatever,” Keith shrugs, waving his hand as if dismissing the very idea that he was bothered by it in the first place. “But that's why I need to win, and I need you to get your shit together like yesterday _all_ the time. Okay?”

“Sure thing,” Shiro extends his arm, like he's going for a handshake. It’s so horribly formal, even if it is good-natured, that Keith wants to slap his hand away. Instead, he reaches for it, tries to ignore that it's fleshy and warm instead of cool and firm, and settles on one firm shake.

They're really partners, now. Business. Not personal.

Keith hates it.

There is, at least, some temporary respite in the mission mail coming in.

**Clear the noise from the Olkarion. You have 180 minutes. Fail, and face erasure.**

“We better get moving,” Keith reasons, pushing himself to his feet. “It’s not far, but if we have to fight shit then we need to get going.” The question of whether Shiro will be able to fight at all hangs on his lips. Shiro had stepped in yesterday, sure, but only after Keith was quite literally in mortal peril. Keith doesn’t want to tackle everything himself, though he’s starting to piece together a picture of why he might need to.

He shoves it from his mind as they set off on their way. There’s no real way of knowing how many players are left apart from the two of them, though Keith hopes it’s a lot. If it weren’t for Rolo and Nyma the day before, he isn’t sure they’d still be here to try and complete day three.

Fuck, there was still half a week of this. He hopes it’s worth it, and that he doesn’t suddenly lose on day seven. That would suck more than anything else.

Shiro screeches to a halt right before the enter the Olkarion area.

“Shiro, dude, come on,” Keith tugs at his arm, but Shiro doesn't move, ignoring Keith entirely as he stares at a cafe.

“Shiro,” he repeats, and it's more of a warning. “We don't have time for this.”

“I know this place but I don't remember why too well,” Shiro offers after a minute. A bit of an olive branch of information instead of not talking at all.

Keith just wants to shake his head and get him _away._ Of course he remembers this place. Shiro had taken him on dates here and Keith always made fun of his skinny vanilla latte that made him sound like a middle aged lady. They used to go here and then swing by the music store around the corner - Keith had a fondness for vinyls and CDs (they were physical, tangible. They weren't going to just randomly delete themselves or disappear) and Shiro indulged him in presents far more often than he probably ought to. Once Shiro'd bought him a rather nice set of metallic red headphones, too. They were expensive.

“We don't have time for this,” Keith insists once more. This time, when he pulls on Shiro's arm, Shiro comes willingly.

The first street of the Olkarion market is flooded with Noise. It is everywhere they look. Most of it is low-level and easily beaten, especially when Keith combines his efforts into a combo with Shiro's long range magic attacks.

But it keeps coming - they must have fought fifty of the things, hacking and slashing and spinning until Keith was dizzy and Shiro had slumped against the wall, clutching his elbow.

“We're getting closer,” Keith decides.

“How do you mean?”

“The Noise are getting more and more dense as we get closer to the center of the market, yeah?”

“Yes, I noticed.”

“So there’s probably a Reaper spawning them there, right?”

Shiro ponders it for a moment, snapping his right-hand fingers to summon a small flash of lightning when a cat-like creature rounds on the two of them. It disappears in a puff of green sparkles.

“Sounds like a good theory,” Shiro agrees. “Let’s get moving. Let’s see if we can’t figure out what’s going on.”

Soon enough, they’re deep in the center of the market. Keith lost count of how many critters they destroyed what feels like an age ago. Shiro handles most of the fighting this time; it’s easier for him to zap something with a flame or a jolt of electricity than for Keith to find space to swing a sword.

But still the Noise keeps coming. Keith is ready to tear his hair out (he’d lose the long bits at the back though, and he’s fond of them, so he won’t), and even Shiro is looking disgruntled, lips pressed together in a firm line.

“I don’t get it,” Keith finally snaps, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “What are we not getting? We’ve crushed everything we’ve come across!”

“I don’t know,” Shiro answers, in much the same tone.

Keith stares, aghast. He knows Shiro's been struggling in this environment, saw it yesterday with his near shutdown except when Keith was actively telling him what to do. But he'd been good this morning and he'd been talking just fine and Keith _doesn't get it._

“Well, think,” Keith suggests, and he's more pleading than angry. “We can't keep clearing them if we don't know where they're from.”

Shiro opens his mouth to answer, but he's interrupted by someone yelling.

“I told you, dude, she's not interested!”

“Lance, chill.”

“I can't chill! She took my heart right out of my chest and crushed it!”

Keith, for once, is happy that people in the Realground can't see him. Lance? Here? Complaining about shit again? He understands why Hunk is here - the Olkarion market has a load of hard to find ingredients and high quality produce, but Lance? It’s out of the way and it's not his usual type of thing.

“You're being dramatic,” Hunk is reasonable as ever.

“Of course I am! I always am! That's all I ever am, apparently! That's all Keith used to say too!”

Oh.

“You know them?” Shiro asks, eyebrow raised. “I mean, I'm assuming. Keith's not the commonest of names and you look their age.”

“Two friends of mine,” Keith nods.

“Funny. I know them too.’

“Yeah. Funny.”

Shiro frowns, then throws his arm out, snapping his fingers. The creature that was halfway towards Keith's head explodes.

It’s soon followed by another Noise, a fox spawning at Lance's feet.

“I think we found our source.”

Keith does his best to ignore the fact that Lance and Hunk are openly talking about him, that the conversation's moved from Lance's unfortunate love life to something altogether more serious.

“Look, I know you miss them, but-”

“It's Keith's fault Shi-”

Keith steps in between Shiro and where Lance and Hunk stand. “What do you think we need to do?”

“We need to make him feel better.”

“And how do you suggest that?”

“Normally I'd say we find a pretty girl or get him some food that reminds him of home, but I don't think that's gonna solve this one.”

“Me neither.”

Lance is storming off before they realise it, and Hunk is jogging along to keep up, calling out for him.

“Let's go,” Keith says. Shiro is already right beside him and ready to.

“I say we have two options,” Shiro says after a moment of trying to keep up with the others in the crowd.

“Talk to me. I've got nothing.”

“We either get them out of here and sweep the place to make sure there's nothing else hiding,” Shiro suggests. “Or we can use our first option and try to make him feel better. I know what's easier.”

“Fuck the easy one. He's our friend. We're doing what's right.”

“Didn't expect any less from you.”

Keith isn't sure if he's supposed to smile, but he does it anyway.

“We still have the imprinting thing,” Keith points out a few moments later. Lance has stopped to look at a shiny blue trinket on a stall.

“And what do you suggest we say?”

“I dunno. He's upset about too much right now.”

They follow some more. Keith is left with the unsettling sinking feeling that they're running out of time and not making much progress.

He checks his phone. They’ve already wasted over forty minutes on this. They have less than a two hours left to figure it out.

Keith wants to tear his hair out. He wants to punch stupid Lance in his stupid _face_ for being the cause behind this, for saying things about him, about Shiro, about either of them and both of them.

Keith knows he’s the reason they’re here, but hearing it from Lance’s mouth makes it sting ten times worse.

“Let’s just keep following and see if we can figure something out.”

They defeat every Noise that comes in their way, but the constant onslaught is at best exhausting and at worst causing a genuine strain on their wellbeing.

An hour later and with nothing to show for it except a poor attempt at getting Lance to talk about whichever girl was bothering him, Keith is ready to hurl himself off of the nearest rooftop. This is excruciating, and the chat keeps coming back to Keith, and Shiro, and Keith thanks whatever higher being exists in this place that Shiro doesn’t seem to be really putting two and two together. He’s distracted. Lost inside that head of his in a way that Keith hasn’t seen for at least a year and a half.  

“I just miss them,” Lance says after a moment. Keith looks up and finds Shiro staring. He must be trying the imprinting thing - but they’ve already _tried_ this line of reasoning and it did fuck all!

“I know you do, buddy,” Hunk’s voice is reassuring as always.

“Like - so much. Like, now it’s just you and me and Pidge and I’m pretty sure Pidge wants nothing to do with me now anyway.”

“Don’t say that.”

“She told me to fuck off!”

“Lance, you pretty much ambushed her on her way to class and told her you wanted to fuck.”

“Okay, so, that was a bad move-”

“She’d just found out that Shiro was dead!”

For once is his goddamn life, Lance is left speechless. Keith would cheer if it weren’t for the fact that Pidge was probably high-key suffering. She’d known Shiro at least as long as Keith had - probably longer, given that her big brother and Shiro were best friends in college.

This wasn’t working. “Knock it off,” Keith says, nudging Shiro’s side. “I think we might have to resort to plan B.”

“Are you sure?”

“We’re not making any headway this way, are we? And it’s been over two hours and god knows how long it’s going to take to get rid of them, and we don’t even know if we’re on the right track and-”

“Keith, woah, calm down.”

“I will not calm down! We need to complete this fucking task!”

Shiro doesn’t say anything for a moment, instead crossing his arms across his chest, eyes intense as he stares Keith down. Keith does his best not to falter. Normally, normally he’s fairy stubborn about getting things right, but this plan is so clearly not working, and there’s no way they can risk not succeeding. There are too few people left _already_ to back them up and wherever they are, they obviously haven’t figured out what’s going on yet. It’s down to them. It’s always been down to them.

“Lead the way,” Shiro concedes after a moment of an intense gaze.

“We’re gonna fix him later,” Keith adds, certain in his own mind that that’s the reason for Shiro’s hesitation. “Hunk’ll look after him for now and we can try and help him feel better later today if we have time and can find him again, yeah?”

Shiro doesn’t look convinced, but Keith knows there’s no time for an argument. “Please, Shiro,” He asks. He doesn’t want to beg. “Please just let’s do it my way. If you don’t have anything more to show for your idea than ‘I think it’s morally right’ then we’re not gonna win. This game isn’t about fucking morals.”

It was never about morals, or else they’d let Shiro live without having to fight for it.

They jog after the other duo, who they’re at risk of losing in the crowd. Keith knows a few of Lance’s favourite places; places that are far, far away from the market, places that will definitely get him away from here.

He taps the app on his phone and starts concentrating, staring at Lance’s back.

 _Mama Rosa’s_ is the first one Keith tries. It’s a good pizza place. On the other side of town. Lance loves pizza.

Keith sees him slap himself on the side of the head and decides it’s not a good idea any more.

 _Smoothies,_ he tries next. Lance had gone on a health kick a few weeks ago and had taken to banana smoothies with protein added.

It doesn’t work either, and Lance pointedly ignores it to stare at some pretty jewellery on one of the markets.

“Pidge,” Shiro says with a bitter-sounding tone. “You’re trying to give him something to do elsewhere, right? He needs to go and sort things out with her. I think that’s a good distraction for him.”

Keith doesn’t want to admit that he hadn’t been doing that in the first place, so he says nothing, instead refocusing himself and doing his best to send just about every thought of Pidge in Lance’s direction.

“Hey,” Lance says after a moment, and Keith is convinced he’s done it, gotten it right, and they’re going to leave any second- “Do you think Pidge would wear this if I got her it? As an apology?”

He holds up a necklace for Hunk to inspect.

“Dude, that’s sick! In the good way, y’know, not the gross ew I’ve been sick bad way-”

“Hunk.”

“No, no, okay, but yeah, maybe? You know how much she loves coffee, dude, she’ll love it.”

Keith peers over Lance’s shoulder, and it’s so weird knowing that they have no idea that he’s even there. It’s a cute little pendant, some sort of molecular fomula in silver attached to a black cord. Keith doesn’t know Pidge all that well, really, but if she was going to wear anything, Keith supposes that might be it.

It’s a nice gesture, but it’s not really what he’d intended for them to be doing with their time.

“You think if I bring her this and those stupidly expensive cookies she likes and a coffee and literally get on my knees and beg that she might forgive me?”

“It’s worth a shot. You just gotta make sure you mean it and don’t try and get in her damn pants again.”

“Sure."

Keith glances at his hand-timer. Half an hour. _Half an hour._ And to get out of the vicinity far enough to be safe was at least a ten minute walk. They had five minutes to get them moving to be on the safe side. Five goddamn minutes!

And Lance can’t seem to find his wallet. Five minutes to go and Lance can’t find his wallet and Hunk doesn’t seem to have enough cash to cover it and oh god, this was a nightmare. They were going to die here, they were dead, they were so dead-

Shiro seems to be fiddling with his own pocket, and then with Lance’s. Keith has no goddamn clue what’s going on until Lance reaches into his pocket and pulls out a twenty.

“Huh,” He says out loud. “I didn’t think I had any cash. Oh well! Good fortune and all that shit.”

“You- what did you just do?” Keith asks, incredulous.

“I put money in his poc-”

The Noise that spawns at Lance’s feet is weaker this time, smaller than the ones they’ve had before. It’s been ages since the last one appeared, too, so Keith supposes they might be on the right track after all. It doesn’t feel right, not really, but how bad can it be when it’s supposedly working?

“I didn’t think money would transfer,” He reasons after he lazily stabs the bird with the tip of his sword. “I thought it was gonna be like how we can’t be seen.”

“I figured it was worth a shot,” Shiro shrugs.

“I mean, it’s worked,” Keith mutters as Lance is handed the necklace in a little paper bag. “I’m not going to complain.”

Keith and Shiro follow the two of them to the edge of the market.

“Okay, I’m pretty convinced they’re leaving.”

“Same.”

 

The zap to Keith’s palm lets him know that he’s right.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to [CK Cosplay](https://ck-cosplay.tumblr.com/) for the art in this chapter! One of my favourite scenes in the whole piece. Protip: look closely at Keith's phone in the art. 
> 
> (PS pls give me comments they give me life)


	4. Chapter 4

When Keith awakens at the crossing, he is ready. Day four. The days were only going to keep getting tougher. They were only going to keep getting worse. If they make it through today, they’re over halfway through.

Keith doesn’t want to hope too hard (he’s been let down far too many times before) but he still lets himself have a tiny bit. They’ve been doing well, as far as he can tell (which isn’t very well, but that’s not really the point).

 

**Reach Altea Town Hall. You have until midnight.**

 

“Up,” he says to Shiro when he spies him sitting, “We’re going for a walk.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m feeling antsy and there’s time, I think.”

Shiro considers it. “Are you sure?” He asks after a moment or two. “What if it’s tougher than you’re expecting?”

“It’s not that far away, Shiro. How bad can it be?”

“I’m just saying, Keith. Maybe it’s better to be cautious. We’re almost halfway through.”

Keith purses his lips as he considers this option. He supposes it can’t really hurt. They’ll still have time after; the Altea town hall isn’t really all that far away if you know the shortcuts around the city.

“Sure,” he agrees. He supposes it’s more important to get the mission done than anything else. They get points for being first, and if it’s a limited number of people who get to come back then - well, they need as many points as they can get. “We’re walking, though. My legs are aching after all the running around.”

“Deal.”

With that, they set off.

It feels different than the other missions. The lack of any interruptions is terrifying in its own way; Keith is so hyper-aware of the awful things that aren’t happening to them that the hairs on the back of his neck stand upright.

Shiro interrupts the silence first. “Is your friend still here, do you think?”

“Huh?” Keith looks up, eyebrows furrowed into a crease.

“Your friend? You said he was playing and you’d spoken to him.”

“Oh-” Keith breathes out an uneasy sigh and gives a short, uncertain laugh. “I… I think so. I’ve seen him around.”

“That’s good. I hope you both make it to the end.”

Keith shudders as he breathes a quiet, “So do I.”

It’s an awkward silence as they continue. Shiro is practically back to how he was when Keith first met him - confident but not cocky, quietly radiating authority with the way he holds himself. He doesn’t say much about himself. That isn’t new, either.

Keith shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at the floor, kicking a pebble as he walks.

“How’s the arm?” Keith asks after a moment or two more. Shiro tenses, and Keith instantly regrets asking it. “Oh,” he says, “never mind. That was rude.”

“It’s fine,” Shiro says. Any other time Keith would be reassured. This time he isn’t.

They fall quiet again until Shiro holds out his right hand in front of him, curled into a fist.

“I don’t like to use it,” he explains. “I am not going to attack with something that’s not mine.”

“How have you been doing those lightning bolts and stuff? All I got was a sword,” Keith asks. It’s a convenient change of subject.

“Oh. Didn’t you get a handful of pins when you woke up?” Shiro reaches into his pocket and reveals a handful of brightly coloured pins. A blue one with a yellow lightning bolt, a black one with a white handprint, a navy one with a cartoon moon… there were so many. His player pin was buried amongst them. “Some of them feel like they have energy in them. When I touch them and concentrate I can make things happen. Did you not get that?”

Keith stares down at the four pins he’s pulled from his pocket. A red one with an orange flame, his player pin, a black one with a stylised lion outline, and one with a cutesy pink skull. He doesn’t feel anything, so he shoves them back in his pocket.

“No,” he mutters, and he tries not to sound angry.

“Well, well, well,” They’re interrupted by a woman in front of them, with a bright ponytail on the top of her head. “Players, huh?”

“Of course they’re players,” her companion adds, pushing off of the wall she was leaning against. Her arms stay folded against her chest as she tosses purple hair out of her face.

“What do you want?” Shiro asks. Keith is too preoccupied with the black wings on their back to speak.

“Well,” the first woman says, drawing it out to sound more sing-song than it really needs to. “We’re under orders from the GM to stop you at all costs, so…”

The two of them move to stand side by side, blocking any further progress down the street. Ah, hell. Keith knew it couldn’t have been as simple as just a walk across town.

“You know the rules, Ezor. No touching.”

“God, Acxa, don’t be such a killjoy.” She tosses her hair. “I wasn’t gonna fight ‘em myself.”

Acxa - if that even is her name - ignores her.

“You want past us? Beat these.”

They snap their fingers in unison, and Noise appear in front of them. A white wolf with bright blue eyes, an a yellow one with pink eyes.

 

The two women snap their fingers again, and Keith sees them disappear and reappear a safe distance away from the creatures.

Shit. Nothing for it but to fight or run. Keith may be fast, but he sure as hell doesn’t trust himself to outpace a wolf or two. He draws his knife and it morphs in his hands. Shiro has his left arm raised.

“Ready?” Keith asks.

The wolves spring before Shiro can answer, and Keith hurls his weight into swinging the sword, metal connecting with the yellow one’s body. It sprawls on the floor for but a moment, and Keith takes a second glance at what Shiro is doing.

He’s hurling lightning strikes, but to what seems like limited effect. He reaches for his pocket again, draws the black pin from earlier into his right palm and then fixes his gaze on a nearby fire hydrant. The hydrant is hurled in the white wolf’s direction, smacking into it and throwing it against the wall of the alley. The yellow one is caught up in the water, and it slips. It buys them precious seconds.

“Use the lightning on the yellow one,” Keith yells. Electricity and water are a good combination for a fight, right? “I’ll handle the white one”

“Got it!”

Keith knows he’s going to be pleased with that later. They’re finally getting back on the same wavelength.

The two of them play out the plan as outlined. Shiro zaps the yellow; Keith stabs the white one, smacks it around until it collapses and explodes. He wonders why they don’t bleed, but throws the thought away. Why is any of this happening? Why is any of this a valid thing to be occurring in the first place?

Shiro’s opponent explodes into yellow glitter, a not-insignificant portion of which ends up all over him. They’ll have to take care to get rid of it later.

“Awww, man. They beat our Noise. No points for us!” The pink one complains, loudly. Loud enough that Keith can hear her from the other end of the alley. He has half a mind to march down there and shove his sword through her throat. Throwing monsters at them while they were standing right there? Who did that?

“We held them up,” the purple-haired one points out. “Haggar is not so foolish as to overlook that.”

“Boo. It’s been forever since we actually get a Game in action and we can’t even rack up points? Don’t you want that promotion you’ve been chasing since forever?”

Keith nudges Shiro’s waist with his elbow, and they sprint past the women to the end of the alley. The women make no attempt to follow, and instead, the more enthusiastic one yells a, “Good luck!” In that sing-songy voice.

Keith tries to ignore what that could possibly even mean.

“You doing okay?” Keith asks once they’re in the clear. No Reapers. No black wings of doom anywhere to be seen. No Noise, for now. Keith swears they’re getting tougher every time they fight one they haven’t seen before.

“Doing just great,” Shiro gasps, clutching at his right hand side. Keith peers at it, and there’s a tear in the fabric of his shirt. He’s scratched deep enough to bleed and Keith is almost relieved to see that they’re still capable of doing so, and then hates himself because he hadn’t even noticed that Shiro was hurt.

“Sit down,” he urges, pushing on Shiro’s shoulders until his knees give and he sits on the ground. “We have time. We can wait until you feel a bit better. As long as the day doesn’t tick over-”

“Keith.”

“Shiro.”

“I know. I just don’t know how much further I can walk. That running past them really took the last of my energy.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m tired. I’m tired of fighting. It takes all the energy out of me.”

“Then we can rest, Shiro, we can take as long as you need.”

“Why are you so determined to keep trying?”

The question catches Keith off-guard, and he leans back on his heels where he’d been kneeling beside Shiro to inspect the wound.

“You know why,” he says, voice low and almost uncertain. “I’ve told you.”

“All for him, huh?” Shiro almost sounds incredulous.

“All for him.”

“He’s lucky.”

“How do you mean?” Keith raises an eyebrow.

“To have someone so dedicated to him.”

“Sh-” He catches himself before he says Shiro’s name aloud and gives it all away. “-he’s the one person who never gave up on me. I’m not giving up on him or on getting him back.”

They fall quiet, and Keith debates just admitting to everything, admitting that Shiro’s the one he’s been talking about the entire time, but with how hopeless Shiro seems to be at the minute Keith decides against it. Shiro’s not going to trust him if he says it even though the number one rule is always ‘trust your partner’.

Keith hopes they can make it to the Town Hall before night falls. He knows what happens if nobody manages (everyone is Erased). He knows what happens if they don’t manage (no points), and he knows even better what happens if they don’t manage and they’re also the last team left. Game Over, instant Erasure.

He doesn’t want to force Shiro to move if he’s not feeling up to it, and Keith has a sneaking suspicion that it won’t count if just one of them makes it to the location - never mind the fact that they can’t really fight on their own.

He sighs as he drags a hand down his face. They don’t really have the time to waste, and -

There’s a burning in his pocket, and he reaches in with a gloved hand, withdrawing the pin that seems to be causing it - the one with the pink skull.

He doesn’t really understand, but it feels like the right time to try and use it, so he closes his eyes, grips it tightly in his palm and concentrates. Energy flows through him, and when he opens his eyes –

Shiro gasps like he’s been punched in the gut and Keith opens his eyes wide to stare at him - but he’s not doubled over in pain like Keith expects, instead he’s staring down at his side. Where there had previously been a series of cuts, there was now smooth, pink skin.

Keith stares at the pin in his hand and then at Shiro.

“I did that,” he says, and he almost sound stupid. “I did that? I fixed it?”

“Apparently,” Shiro answers, running his fingers along the new skin as if to test it. He moves, shifting onto his knees and then standing up. “It’s a little tender but I can move,” He concludes. “Let’s get moving again. I don’t like being out in the open and vulnerable like this.”

Keith is happy to go along with it, pushing himself back up onto his feet and following after Shiro.

When they approach the Town Center, things are abnormally quiet. There are no players, and even the people in the RG are sparser than usual.

“This can’t be right,” Shiro says right at the same time as Keith says, “Something’s wrong.”

They proceed with caution, eyes darting around as they walk.

“We’re only a couple hundred feet from the gates to the Town Hall,” Keith points out. “We could make a run for it, hope we get there quickly.”

“Or we go slow and steady and have time to react to things instead of running smack into them,” Shiro counters. Keith doesn’t argue. How can he, really?

“Maybe they’re just making us stress out because they think it’s fun to watch us squirm,” Keith suggests after another few moments of nothing happening. There’s nothing wrong yet, apart from the vaguely unsettling feeling that this entire thing is just somehow _not right._

Keith’s palms are sweaty and he holds the sword in one hand as he wipes the other on his jeans.

Three hundred feet. Two hundred. One hundred.

There is nothing stopping their approach and Keith lowers his guard. They’re almost close enough to get in, all they’d have to do would do one long jump and they’d be inside the grounds. They’re safe, they’re safe, they’re so totally safe and ready to fight one more day and--

Keith is knocked off of his feet, flying ten feet into the air and landing hard on his back. His sword lands with a clatter beside him, and he spends a good thirty seconds trying to remember how to breathe to get some air back inside his lungs. He’s acutely thankful that he didn’t hit his head too hard.

“Keith!” Shiro’s voice cuts through the chaos around him. There are birds above him, and he watches them circle. There are heavy sounding steps coming towards him, and he turns his head.

A motherfucking rhinoceros. A vicious one at that.

He can’t move, so instead he turns his head back to look towards the sky again.

What a nice way to let it all end. The same as it began, lying in a public place staring up at the sky and wondering what the fuck is going on. This time, though, this time there’s pain in his stomach and he just wants to let his eyes close.

He lets them slip shut. There’s no use in trying to win this fight. There are too many of them, and Shiro can’t win it on his own.

Keith wouldn’t be surprised if other teams had wiped out here. Maybe that’s why there’s so few people around.

“M’sorry, Shiro,” he gasps. He’s so fucking sorry. If only he hadn’t gotten them into this mess in the first place…

“Don’t say that,” Shiro says. He’s kneeling over him on one knee, looking over at the Noise around them. “We’re going to get you out of here, and finish the mission. Can you get up?”

Keith wheezes in response.

“That’s a no, then,” Shiro looks left, then right, then reaches for Keith’s knife - it’s reverted back to normal size - and presses the handle into Keith’s hand. “I’m going to pick you up.”

“Wait-” Keith gasps, but it’s too late, Shiro already has him picked up, one arm hooked under his knees and the other supporting his back.

Oh. This is nice. This is really nice. Keith does his best to resist it, but it’s too easy to lay his head in the crook of Shiro’s neck and close his eyes. He’s tired of this. Tired of fighting, tired of not being allowed close, and now he’s been granted that, in the midst of what might easily be their final battle.

He’s so tired. Maybe the fall had taken more out of him than he thought.

Shiro sets out into the best run that he can manage with someone in his arms. They’re defenseless like this, and Keith hears a grunt of frustration as they stagger to a stop and change direction. He peeks out from under a heavy eyelid. They’re further away now than they were when they started, and the Noise show no signs of letting up. Without his hands, Shiro has no way to fight. Without any energy, neither does Keith.

“Shiro,” Keith murmurs against his neck. “I really am sorry. This is my fault.”

“Shut up. We’re going to complete this. We have all day. Retreating to think up a plan is fine.”

Keith sighs, but just a little. “Sure.”

Shiro turns on his heel and jogs back down the street they’d approached from. The Noise don’t follow beyond a certain point; it’s like there’s some kind of invisible barrier stopping them from progressing.

“Looks like both of us are getting beaten up today, huh?” Keith mutters as he’s placed on a wooden bench. It’s not the most comfortable of places to slouch - sitting is too painful. He lifts his shirt to inspect the damage done by whatever had hurled him - by the shape and colour of the marks, he suspects it was the rhino. At least he’s not bleeding (externally, anyway).

“Better than dying immediately,” Shiro answers, kneeling in front of Keith to inspect the wound. It’s surprisingly intimate, and Keith can feel the tops of his ears going red. He’s never been more thankful for his hair covering his ears than he is now.

Shiro’s thumbs trail across Keith’s stomach, checking for wounds, placing gentle pressure to test his reactions. He’s been trained in first aid to a pretty high level, Keith knows, so it makes sense for him to do it, but still. This Shiro hasn’t exactly been touchy-feely, so it feels odd, a warm and almost happy feeling trailing after his thumbs.

“Well doc, what’s the prognosis? Am I gonna die?” Keith tries to lighten the mood, and he follows the question with a short laugh. He knows he’s not dying, though it hurts so much he could be.

“Well, Keith, I think the chances of you dying in the next three days are a little higher than normal but for now you’re good,” Shiro plays along, and he’s even got a smile on his face, bless him. .

“You sure?” Keith asks, raising an eyebrow. “Cause y’know doc, I got a family counting on me and shit.”

“I’m sure,” Shiro pushes himself back to his feet and sets himself back down on the bench beside Keith instead. “You reckon you’ll be able to go back there and try again?”

“We’re going to have to,” Keith points out. “No-one else is here.”

“Do you think we’re the only people left?”

The question hangs heavy in the air. It’s been quiet, recently. There were a lot of Noise yesterday. There are a lot of Noise today. Keith wouldn’t be surprised if other people had succumbed to them or the Reapers.

“Just because we haven’t seen them doesn’t mean they aren’t here. Maybe they got told to go somewhere else.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

He’s right, really. It’s not how it works, and Keith knows it. One mission per day. Everyone gets the same. Complete it fastest or do more of the work and you get more points.

The timer is still ticking, counting down the hours and minutes until midnight.

“I’ll be good to go in a half hour or so,” Keith concludes after a moment. “If that’s okay.”

“It’s okay. Take as much time as you need.”

Even this Shiro is a sweetheart who cares about Keith’s wellbeing. He doesn’t deserve it.

“What did you do before all of this?” Shiro asks after a few moments of contented silence. “Like- a job? Or were you a student or what?”

“I’m twenty-three. I don’t really do anything all that exciting, I just worked at a mechanic. I like bikes.”

“Oh yeah? What kinda bikes?”

“I’d just gotten a new one, actually. A Ducati Monster 1200. Really gorgeous cherry red.” Keith hesitates, breath catching in his throat. “I crashed her and that’s why I’m here.”

It goes quiet, again. Keith looks at his knees and he can feel Shiro looking at him.

“I was doing my PhD,” Shiro says after a moment. Keith is thankful that he wants to change the subject. “I was researching black holes.”

Keith knows. He knows how many nights Shiro stayed up late poring over textbooks and journals and articles and talking to professors. He knows how many cups of coffee he had every night. He knows how many classes he had to teach on the side to discount the fees to a reasonable amount. He knows how many times Shiro had cried because it was all just getting too much.

“I like space too,” is all Keith says in reply. Sometimes he wishes he was up there with the stars, instead of down here. On the nights when the sky is clearest, he swears he could reach out and pull the stars to him instead, because he knows he’ll never get to them. But it never works.

“What’s your favourite planet?” Shiro asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Pluto, duh.” Keith’s answer is instant.

“Pluto’s n-”

“It’s a dwarf planet, therefore still a planet. Don’t fight me on this, and fuck NASA for taking away its regular planet status.”

“It was actually the IAU.”

“Then fuck the IAU.”

“Were you angry at NASA the whole time?”

“Maybe.”

“Misdirected rage, huh? How’s that work out for you?”

“Oh, quit it.”

 

It’s easy, this. Back and forward like it used to be.

 

“Ready for a round two at that thing?” Shiro asks a moment later, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder towards the town hall.

“If you are.” The pain has mostly gone from the first time around. “I think we need a strategy though.”

“I mean, trying to sprint past them worked so well last time.”

“C’mon, Shiro, be serious!”

“I know, I know. Sorry.” He looks genuinely apologetic, so Keith nods. “How about I try and distract them with some of that lightning shit?”

“You said it made you tired. I don’t want you wearing yourself out.”

“I’ll be fine, Keith.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m telling you, I’ll be fine.”

“You always say that!” Years worth of frustration had bubbled over, and Keith wasn’t proud of it. He has to cover for it. “I mean - you say that now but you were bleeding out all over the place earlier and I don’t think you wearing yourself out with all this magic stuff is good for you.”

“Keith,” Shiro lowers his voice, just a little, looking him in the face. “I-”

They are cut off by a scream. In the midst of their disagreement, a pair had approached the Noise.

There is a woman suspended at least fifty feet in the air, held up by an oversized crow’s claws, and a man doing his best to hold back the onslaught of the rhino.

“Get off of me!” The woman screams. She’s struggling against the claws, but that’s stupid, it’s so stupid, she’s going to-

She falls. Keith can’t tear his eyes away even as the sickening crack of her head against the ground is heard.

Shiro is on his feet in an instant, yelling something indistinct. Keith can’t hear the specifics above the buzzing in his ears.

Shiro is gone, he’s running, and Keith is joining him, but it feels like he’s wading through syrup.

He looks at the body once Shiro reaches her, but it’s already too late. She’s already disappearing, she’s already turned into pink smoke and dust.

“Save him!” Shiro yells, and Keith can barely make it out, can hardly hear, but his feet will him to move. His blade is drawn, and he forces is straight into the rhino-creature’s eyeball, before withdrawing and forcing it through its throat, through its eye again, through its cheek.

It’s slow to react to the wounds, and as it turns its attention towards Keith, the unknown man falls to his knees and then drops his forehead onto the ground, too.

“Shiro,” Keith shouts, though it comes out like a grunt as the rhino-creature skims his arm with it’s sharp-edged horn. “A little help!”

Shiro is at his side in an instant, but he’s picking up the other man instead of helping. “Get to the Town Hall,” He calls, jogging over there. The birds are distracted, apparently temporarily contented now that the woman is gone. It’s just this goddamn rhino that Keith is now facing alone to deal with.

The horn connects with his sword, and it’s sent spinning out of his hand. He stumbles backwards, refusing to turn around, for the second he does he’s sure he’ll get stabbed in the back - literally. As it is, he has to dive out of the way to avoid a swipe. He lands hard on one knee, kneeling as he watches the rhino. It comes towards him. He waits. If he times it right, he can avoid getting hit, grab his knife and be halfway to the gate to the Hall before the Noise even realises he’s moved.

Three.

Two.

_One._

 

He dives again, but he doesn’t do it cleanly, and he feels a hot flash in his left leg. Still, he reaches for the handle of his knife and hurls himself at the gate, ignoring the searing pain that’s telling him that he really, really needs to stop.

He staggers over the boundary and falls to his knees at Shiro’s feet.

“We did it,” he gasps, looking up, breathing hard. The other man is sat on a bench, head in his hands.

“It’s a shame about him,” Shiro says with a sigh, and his expression is entirely unreadable. “He can’t stay without a partner. He’s only got about a minute left.”

It’s not even a minute. They watch as first his feet and then the rest of his body slowly disintegrates, turning into grey ash and black smoke as he goes.

“We didn’t even know his name,” Keith mutters. He clutches at his forehead, massaging the temples. Shit, he’s tired. “We didn’t even know his fucking name and we just watched him and his fucking partner die!”

“I thought I could save her.”

“Nothing can! Don’t you get it? That’s the point of these games! They’re trying to get rid of us to prove we don’t deserve to come back!”

“Keith, you’re-”

“What, exactly right?”

“Bleeding.”

 

He only has time to glance at his leg before he falls backwards and everything goes dark.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art for this was done by someone called peanut-milk on tumblr, but they appear to have deactivated since! I believe their instagram is peanut-miilk. 
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful cheerleaders for helping me get this chapter up; it's been a rough few weeks.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Shiro Big Bang of 2017, and I'm so glad to finally be able to post! It was a rollercoaster trying to get things finished between work and mental health and sudden loss of motivation, but it's here. 
> 
> There are seven chapters in total, and they should all be published before the end of November. The upcoming chapters are the ones that feature art!
> 
> Liked what you saw? Hit me up on tumblr [here](http://abrandnewheart.tumblr.com)  
> The event was run by the amazing team [here](http://voltronbigbang.tumblr.com)  
> The header was made by the wonderful [oligreyart](https://oligreyart.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Note: The fic is based on the world of the video game 'The World Ends With You' but you can absolutely read it without knowing that game - I've tried my best to make sure of that, but if anything isn't clear I'm happy to clarify!


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